


His Gun

by thebeastinsideusall



Series: Tattoos [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Loves You, Dean adores you, F/M, Tattoo, drunk ideas, you love Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:30:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8365210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeastinsideusall/pseuds/thebeastinsideusall
Summary: Dean loves your ink. Every inch of it. The mark on you is there for eternity and beyond. And it's his.





	

Dean

 

Dean's seen every inch of your body. Every curve. Every dip. Every slope of flesh. Dean's always saying you have the softest skin. That he feels like your flesh will rip under his calloused touch. He loves the way you feel against his own scarred flesh. 

There's scars yes. You weren't born a hunter but Ellen found you. Raised you up like she did Jo and here you were. Barely 24 and living in the bunker. In Dean's room, your room? It doesn't matter. You know this life is hard and that's why you give him everything you've got like he gives you everything he has left of his humanity after hunts. 

But you're not scarred so badly that your flesh is marred with the rough tissue. But instead of scars marring your body like Dean's, you've got ink. So much ink embedded into your skin. And Dean loves every line, speck and shade that's spanning over your body as you sleep. 

There's the anti possession tattoo, taking a large chunk over your right hipbone. The sun like flames spouting from the center and symbols just barely arching toward your navel. Some curling around your side and hip. A few tips crawling towards your pubic bone.

Another curling up your left bicep. Razor wire cutting through flesh as it sinks into muscle. That one took some time, a lot of inking and shading for the reds and silvers and blacks to look right. A symbol to your life floating through juvie as a preteen. The lessons and memories holding tight to you all these years. 

Deans favorite. A pistol holstered to your left thigh. Thick with detailed leatherwork and straps and metal. Now that one. That one was special. There's a reason behind that one. A special one only Dean is privy to. 

It's HIS gun tattooed onto your thigh like that. The sleek metal barrel. The gleaming pearl like side pieces on the handle. It's his mark on you without a single person to know any different then the simple almost overdone design. But Dean knows. And that's all the matters. 

You'd gotten it as a drunken attempt to show your affection to the eldest Winchester. Two years spent on hunts with him and Sam and you just couldn't take another day of it. You'd gone off to a bar, shit faced and and nearly turning into a whimpering mess but you'd made it out of there. To the tattoo parlor a block down that was still open. Artist didn't give a damn that you were drunk, just that you had cash. 

He'd seen it. The next morning after somehow making it to your hotel room. You'd ripped off your jeans that were making the fresh ink sting and tug on the sensitive flesh. Laying in a pink and grey flannel and your panties. Sheets curled around the opposite leg to let the ink breath through the night. In your sleep you'd forgotten about it. 

Dean had been so shocked at seeing it. He couldn't be mad that you'd done something so stupid. Even he never got drunk enough to get a tattoo. And then the detail of it sunk in. The familiarity of the piece in question heavy in his side holster against his ribs. As if calling to its two dimensional twin across the room. He loved it. 

That's why your here. Wrapped up in deans arms as the two of you breath softly in deep sleep. Bare skin on bare skin. Ink against scarred muscles and flesh of his own body against yours. His fingers and palm spread over your lower back. Your face nuzzled into his neck. Legs tangled together. 

Who knows how long it would last. Or how long he would get lucky to stay alive. All he cares about was that you were here, beside him and safe for the moment between hunts. Hunts the grew more and more dangerous with every passing week. 

All he cared was that you were his. And you wore his name. His mark. His protection. No matter in what form. That ink on your thigh more intimate than any wedding band he could ever imagine. You were his.

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are open lovelies!


End file.
